


nusquam

by armethaumaturgy



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mild Kenophobia, Phantom Paps makes an appearance to be his shitty self, bad sanses poly - Freeform, but mostly Cross and Dust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:02:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28820421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armethaumaturgy/pseuds/armethaumaturgy
Summary: Cross sat on the ratty carpet in the middle of the room, hugging his knees to his chest. He was shaking, that much Dust could see even with the limited light.“Criss-Cross,” he called again, again getting no response.‘He knows what he deserves,’ Papyrus grinned, and his grin was pulling up more than it should have. Dust spared him a momentary glare but no more, finding it easy to ignore his brother when presented with the current, monochrome-colored problem on the floor.
Relationships: Sans/Sans (Undertale)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 123





	nusquam

The castle was  _ big _ .

They never properly realized it until they tried to explore a wing that was unfamiliar, because their rooms and everything else that was important was in the same corridor and its vicinity, and easy to get to.

Dust huffed through his nasal aperture as he ascended a flight of stairs, rounding a corner that looked like all the other ones. He’d been going down hallways for half an hour now, opening each and every door he came upon, and finding nothing so far. It would’ve been easier if he wasn’t alone for the task, or if he had the slightest inkling of an idea where Cross had holed himself up, but he didn’t.

He’d agreed with Killer and Horror to split up, when the negativity in the air started becoming viscous and  _ heavy _ on their shoulders.

He opened door after door, but he didn’t have to. It became excessively obvious which room Cross was in, the moment Dust saw the bed shoved almost neatly against the hallway’s wall. A dresser sat next to it, then a desk, and the door next to them all had the accompanying chair propped against it, wedged underneath the door handle. 

“Cross?” he called, to announce himself, but, predictably, there was no response. He kicked the chair out of the way and found the key to the room in the lock, which was convenient even as it set off alarm bells in his mind.

_ ‘He locked himself in,’ _ Papyrus commented. Dust didn’t answer him in favor of unlocking the door and pulling it open.

The room itself was the same as all the others, with wallpaper that peeled off in some spots and a single window overlooking the garden, but the blinds were drawn over it, plunging the space into darkness.

Cross sat on the ratty carpet in the middle of the room, hugging his knees to his chest. He was shaking, that much Dust could see even with the limited light.

“Criss-Cross,” he called again, again getting no response.

_ ‘He knows what he deserves,’ _ Papyrus grinned, and his grin was pulling up more than it should have. Dust spared him a momentary glare but no more, finding it easy to ignore his brother when presented with the current, monochrome-colored problem on the floor.

Dust closed the door behind himself, phalanges catching on the scratch marks left behind on the metal and wood, and then lowered himself next to Cross. As slowly as his own jitteriness allowed, he placed a hand onto his shoulder.

He’d tried, but it was still more than enough to have Cross jumping out of his curled position, wide sockets darting around until they settled on Dust. There were rivulets of purple tears streaked across his cheekbones that could rival Killer’s, and Dust found himself compelled to wipe them off.

He stayed his hand, though his fingers twitched.

“Redecorating?” he asked, with a grin, but it was short-lived. 

Cross stared at him, unmoving save for the way his shoulders shook and his nasal bridge scrunched when he sniffled. Dust sighed, his joke going unappreciated, and Cross’ eyelights moved off of him and towards the wall, which he dutifully started staring a hole through.

“What’s wrong?”

That pulled Cross’ attention right back, expression somewhere between terrified and worried, and so obviously trying to force it down. “Nothing,” he replied, too fast, too choked. His voice was not unlike sandpaper, and only made Dust wonder how long he’d been crying.

“And the redecorating part?” he asked, pointedly raising a browbone. Cross looked away, yet  _ again _ , and Dust had to force himself to backpedal. “It’s obviously not nothing.”

Only now that he was next to Cross did he realize how much of a bad idea it had been to send  _ him, _ of all people, after Cross. Horror would’ve been better, even Killer would’ve known what to say, and instead here he was, blundering his way through something he wasn’t good at. 

“It’s normal,” Cross rasped, slowly returning to his previous position, knees drawn up and arms wrapped around them, fingers picking at a hole in his shorts. He didn’t lay his head back down, though, which Dust took as a good sign.

“That’s even worse, isn’t it? Something must’ve happened.”

Cross grit his teeth, staring at the point where a strip of the wallpaper met the next one. That was the problem, wasn’t it? Nothing had happened; nothing out of the ordinary, at least. But for some reason, everything had been a little too loud, a little too bright, and retreating away did nothing to lessen it.

“It’s nothing,” Cross insisted, raising a hand to rub the tears off his cheeks, to preserve some semblance of dignity. But what was there to even preserve, when Dust had already seen, and the evidence of his weakness was shoved out of the room, neatly stacked by the wall? Cross’ shoulders hunched and he squeezed his sockets closed when fresh tears sprung into them, threatening to drip over.

Dust’s hand touched his shoulder again and this time Cross didn’t jump quite as violently. It slid across his back and over to the other shoulder, and Cross would’ve been an idiot, not to see the invitation for what it was.

He fell against Dust’s side like a sack of potatoes, not feeling much different. “It’s nothing,” he muttered, the corners of his mouth twitching as he fought with himself, “It’s nothing, it’s nothing, it  _ should be _ nothing…”

_ ‘Pathetic,’ _ Papyrus jeered at the display, scoffing,  _ ‘How do you tolerate such behavior? It’d be so easy to dust him, right now. All it’d take is one hit.’ _

Dust ignored him outright now, repulsed by the mere idea even if the LV in his marrow felt like it was starting to boil. He stayed quiet instead, and held Cross to his side as the younger skeleton started crying again. Cross’ fingers dug into his hoodie and gripped it so tight the fabric would be bunched for a while later, but that was fine.

“I have no right to feel this way,” he muttered into it, so quiet it would normally be inaudible. But he’d done a good job of turning this room into an empty prison, and even that quiet whisper echoed.

“Like what, Criss-Cross?”

It spoke volumes about how far in his own head Cross was, that he didn’t get snippy at the nickname. Not that Dust would ever stop using it, but still.

“Like—” Cross cut himself off with a sniffle and pulled away from Dust to wipe at his skull again, none too gently. “Nevermind. It’s fine.”

_ ‘Show him what happens when he tries to string us along.’ _

Dust did no such thing, but not for the first time he wished Papyrus had an off button. “Do you want to get out of here?”

“No! I—” Cross pulled further away, into himself, looking like a deer caught in the headlights, like Dust would  _ force  _ him.

Instead, Dust propped himself on his hands and stretched his feet in front of himself. “That’s fine. The floor’s comfy.”

Cross studied him, like he wasn’t sure if Dust was being sarcastic or not, but slowly,  _ slowly _ , the tenseness ebbed out of his shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he said, eventually, not meeting Dust’s eyelights.

Dust hummed, like he was mulling it over, but there was nothing  _ to  _ mull over. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not!” Cross looked like he always did before a fight, as determined as could be, and Dust would’ve found it hot if he wasn’t using that determination of his to try and argue. Even worse, he couldn’t find the words to argue properly. “I’m— I just— I shouldn’t…” He growled, getting angry at himself for not being able to articulate his jumbled thoughts. “There’s more important things than… this!”

“Name one,” Dust challenged.

“When you— when you or Killer get an LV rush, and you need to get it out, or, or when Horror gets hungry— or when your Paps becomes too much, or when Nightmare doesn’t get enough emotions, or—” 

_ ‘How dare he talk about me like I’m not here!’ _

“Gonna stop you there,” he sighed, pulling Cross back towards him, and Cross let him, slotting against his side like he belonged there. “Is any of that happening now?”

“I— well, no, but—”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Cross’ mouth opened, but he simply blinked at Dust, nothing coming out. He closed it and repeated the process a couple times, looking like a fish out of water, but Dust didn’t mind. Cross’ shoulders started shaking again, those tears he’d tried to hold back spilling over and rolling down over the tracks already on the bones, as if to carve them deeper. He clung to Dust like he was the last thing left in the world for him — and wasn’t he? There was nothing but the two of them in this place Cross had created.

And he cried. His sobs and wails were half muffled in Dust’s hoodie, but loud enough that the whole castle would’ve heard them. He wasn’t talking, not yet, but it was a start.

Dust wouldn’t force it. Not yet.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [everywhere](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28889817) by [avosettas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avosettas/pseuds/avosettas)




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